lances.
Coffyn nodded at the sentiment, but for him there was a different reason to applaud the actions.
He was a keenly religious man. That was something that had been carefully instilled in him by his master when he was still apprenticed, and the thought that lepers might be endangering the town by their existence had taken hold. His face was flushed with excitement as he sat opposite William.
“Others were attacked as well?”
William shrugged. There was a greediness in Coffyn’s stance, almost as if he was discussing food. It was a look the soldier had seen before in the faces of zealots. “Almost anyone with a position of power, or those with money.”
His master made an irritable click of his tongue and snapped his fingers in a gesture of contempt. “What of them? They hardly matter. When they are gone, God will recognize His own. Those whom He ignores won’t be missed. The good will go to Heaven and should be grateful for their death for releasing them from this life of toil! No, it’s the others: there was a group stoned and hanged along with the Jews, wasn’t there? The lepers. Why were they also killed?”
“They were accused of being in league with the Jews,” William agreed. “It was said that the lepers had agreed to a pact with the Jews in which they would be given any women they wanted from the towns, and in return they were poisoning the wells.”
“It is as I thought!”
“Master, these were the ravings of peasants,” William pointed out reasonably.
“You are a soldier, William; you can’t understand how these things happen,” said Coffyn confidently. “But you must have heard the priests talking about lepers. Their every mark and sign of disease is a divine punishment for their sins.”
“What sins?” asked William, casting his mind back to a friend from an army in Spain who had developed the disease.
“Concupiscence and pride.”
“Oh.” Yes, he thought. That would describe his Spanish comrade well enough-randy and arrogant. Then William shifted uneasily on his seat, wondering whether he should make a visit to the church himself.
“And it is the duty of good Christians to throw these loathsome dregs from our town,” Coffyn stated.
“Isn’t that illegal?”
“Their monstrous sins are made visible by God in the shape of their hideous deformities.”
“But they’re under the protection of the Church.”
“That needn’t prevent citizens from helping us rid the town of them.”
“How would you persuade people to help chuck them out?”
Coffyn lowered his head and grinned. “You heard what I said? These people are foul and driven by uncontrollable lust. Look at that poor Mary Cordwainer, going there every day. Can there be any doubt that the inmates of the lazar house have forced her to their will?”
“You mean they’re…?” William’s lip curled in revulsion.
“Yes. They have polluted her, and bound her to them by their depraved behavior. I have heard it from your friend the smith.”
William pursed his lips. “What’ll you do?”
“It’s more what I want you to do.” 14
B aldwin and Simon waited while Edgar fetched his horse from the yard behind the inn, then all three rode to the Dean’s house.
When they arrived, the place was in a flutter of activity, with servants rushing around and getting into each other’s way as they cleared up after a meal. The smells from the kitchen made Simon’s mouth water, and it was only then that he realized how hungry he was. He hadn’t eaten all morning.
Peter Clifford was seated in his hall. Bishop Stapledon was visiting once more, and sat at his side. Baldwin and Simon took their places on a bench nearby while the Dean finished washing and drying his hands. The bailiff couldn’t help giving a platter of bread a longing glance. Clifford saw the direction of his gaze and smilingly ordered the panter to bring fresh loaves and wine and set them before the bailiff. As the others spoke, Simon listened as best he could, chewing hungrily.
“The Bishop and I were just discussing the choir,” Clifford said. “He was concerned that it wasn’t being performed with the right degree of solemnity.”
“It’s important to ensure that the services are conducted with the uttermost dignity,” Stapledon nodded. “They exist to praise Our Lord, and if they fail to impress someone as poor and ignorant as myself, how can we hope to please Him?”
“So what has been decided?” asked Baldwin.
“I have agreed to appoint four young clerks to assist-one to see to the sacristy, books and the ornaments under the tutelage of the Treasurer; one to be responsible for the bells; a third to attend to offerings at the high altar; and a last who will instruct the others, and inspect their morals.”
Baldwin glanced at Clifford, who studiously avoided his eyes. It struck the knight that the Bishop had agreed to invest in a not-inconsiderable number of new clerks for the church, while the Dean was to be the main beneficiary. Baldwin told himself not to be cynical, but he could see that the Bishop appeared tired, and wondered whether his friend Clifford might have taken advantage.
“By the way, Dean, about these fairs…”
Baldwin settled and resigned himself to waiting until the two priests had finished their business. Now they were talking about the two fairs Stapledon had granted the town. He was alarmed at the drop-off in tolls. This involved a great deal of poring over old parchments and rolls of figures, each of which had to be brought in by troops of monks and canons, until Baldwin was becoming thoroughly irritable. He waved to the panter for food, and soon had a large mug of watered wine and a plate of cold meats.
It was half an hour before Stapledon motioned his clerks away and peered at Baldwin. His eyesight had been failing for some years, and he needed to use spectacles now, which gave him something of the appearance of a bemused owl. “You’ve been very patient with us, Sir Baldwin. My apologies for keeping you waiting so long, but it’s so much better to get these things out of the way when one can. My time isn’t my own any more.”
Baldwin dismissed the apology as unnecessary. “My Lord Bishop, we should apologize for turning up unexpectedly.”
“What can I do for you, Sir Baldwin?” Clifford asked.
“Peter, I wanted to ask you about a girl in the town,” he said. “It’s Cecily, the daughter of the dead man. I understand she’s very generous to the poor, including the lepers.”
“Yes, I believe she has assisted with a few good works. Why?”
“Since her father has been killed, we have been trying to find a reason for his murder, but it’s possible it was only a robbery that went wrong. I am fairly certain that a lot of Godfrey’s plate has gone missing. Similarly, I have to wonder about the dead man’s last words.”
“What were they?”
“Apparently, ”So you’d defile my daughter, would you?“”
“What has she to say about this?”
“She says nothing. She is adamant that she was struck down by a man at the window, and knew nothing of her father’s death.”
Stapledon sipped his wine. “And you do not believe her.”
“I wouldn’t say that, my Lord-I simply don’t know. But it does seem odd to me that she should walk into her hall and be instantly attacked. Most thieves would run away on hearing someone approach. And those words-they allow for some intriguing speculation.”
“Obviously he came upon someone trying to rape the poor girl,” said Clifford.
Simon stole a morsel of Baldwin’s meat. “That’s what it sounds like.”
“What do you mean?” asked the Dean.
“If it was a simple attack of that nature, why say ”defile“? If it were a rape, wouldn’t he have said just that? ”So you’d rape my daughter, would you?“ Surely it’s the form of words that would come most easily to a man?”
“I’m not so sure,” said Stapledon. “One hears such stories nowadays: of nuns being raped in their convents,
